Steadier
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "All Lahar can see of Doranbolt's face is the pattern of the scar drawn up past his hairline, the steel in his eyes and the tears under his frown." Doranbolt and Lahar have a brief moment together after the disappearance of Tenroujima.


Lahar knows Doranbolt is upset. It's clear all over his face, even once he subsides from vocal protest into miserable silence. His eyes are dark and haunted even before the last of the ripples of the island's disappearance have faded from the surface of the water, his mouth is set in a line that speaks more to the tears he's not shedding than actual sobs would give do.

Lahar's still watching him, sideways so the other's face is slightly blurry from the periphery of his glasses, when Doranbolt turns sharply away from the railing of the ship, moves across the deck and towards the inner cabins with such speed that Lahar is several steps behind him by the time he turns to follow. He's only just catching up by the time Doranbolt pauses in front of a door, only just reaching to touch the other's wrist as the other's fingers touch against the door handle.

Doranbolt doesn't flinch at the contact, which is no surprise - there's no way he could have missed Lahar's presence in the narrow corridor, after all - but he doesn't look up either. His jaw clenches harder, his fingers curl into determination on the handle, and it's only Lahar stepping in closer and tightening his grip that keeps him from being thrown off when Doranbolt tries to jerk his arm away.

"Let go." His voice is flat, drained of any emotion. All Lahar can see of his face is the pattern of the scar drawn up past his hairline, the steel in his eyes and the tears under his frown.

"Doranbolt,"Lahar starts, and he doesn't know what he's going to say past that, but the name comes out like an apology and a plea without his intention. It's always harder to control his voice when they're alone.

"Let go," Doranbolt repeats, but he doesn't try to pull away. "Leave me alone."

"I'm sorry," Lahar starts, and that's overfull of emotion too, lingering adrenaline and raw survival-panic shaking into his voice and trembling into his fingertips as well. "There was nothing we -"

"We left them to _die_," and now he's turning, he's dropping the handle and pivoting to step forward into Lahar's personal space, to lean in so Lahar's vision is full of him. "_All_ of them, Lahar, we ran and we _abandoned_ them."

"There was nothing we could do," Lahar says again. His hold on Doranbolt's wrist goes slack, his skin is prickling chill with horror and guilt and fright, mostly, the icy apocalyptic fright still too close. "We had to run."

"There must have been _something_." Doranbolt's voice is shaking, his eyes are frantic as if there is anything that can change what has already happened. "I could have gone back, I should have _helped_, maybe I could have -"

"You would have _died_," Lahar hears himself saying. His hand comes up, closes around Doranbolt's tattered sleeve, and his gaze drops to the set of his fingers against the cloth as words start to pour unchecked up his throat. "If you had gone back you would be dead too, I would have watched you disappear along with the rest of them." His fingers clench tight against Doranbolt's arm, too hard; it must be painful but Doranbolt doesn't so much as flinch. Lahar can't look up to see what his expression is. "It would have changed nothing and you would be _dead_ and I would -" His throat closes off around the hypothetical grief, his fingers tighten further before he makes himself take a deep, choking breath and let his hold go entirely. He can hear Doranbolt breathing in the moment before he can force himself back under control, force his words into a semblance of coherency if not of distance.

"I'm so _glad_ you're alive." He doesn't sound glad. It sounds like a sob, it sounds desperate and panicked and childishly terrified, and Lahar is infinitely grateful that no one but Doranbolt will hear the pathetic relief in his voice. He shuts his eyes, forces a choked breath around the knot in his throat, and when he looks up Doranbolt is staring at him, the cold self-judgment in his eyes going soft into tears.

Lahar's fingers fit perfectly against the back of his collar, and when he leans forward Doranbolt makes no move to pull away from the press of Lahar's mouth against his. Lahar can feel his own lips shaking with the threat of tears, can feel the tension of indecision drawn against the back of Doranbolt's neck. Then he exhales, and Lahar can feel the sob against his lips but Doranbolt is kissing him back, now, and after another breath a hand comes in against his hip like Doranbolt is trying to hold him steady. Lahar can feel Doranbolt's fingers trembling, and he can hear the unsteady catch at the back of his own throat when he takes a breath, but he doesn't move away and neither does Doranbolt.

They're both steadier, together.


End file.
